Shadow of the Day
by A Flaming Moon
Summary: I used to think "I she is really sending me to Forks, I'd kill her." But knowing my mother, she was...although now that I look back on everything that had happened in that little city, I can't say that I'm not thankful. JacobOC PRE-BREAKING DAWN
1. Preface

Preface

_Shadow of the Day_

Shadow of the Day © A Flaming Moon

Twilight © Stephenie Meyer

…

For years I have thought I was an idiot. But now, as I sit in my last-minute plane seat, I noticed that _now_ I was the biggest idiot in the world; probably the _universe_. I had thought I was doing the right thing by leaving Forks, leaving all of the extremities behind, but my racing heart told me otherwise. I clutched the leather backpack's strap tightly, making the skin over my knuckles turn white as snow. I closed my eyes and images flashed behind my eyelids.

I could see the giant figure bolt across the road, knocking me off of my bike and throwing me over the cliff to the raging waters below…

I could see fear echoing in dark eyes as I lay in the hospital bed of a collapsed lung and then those same eyes brightening as the owner recognized the music I drifted asleep to in that hospital bed…

I could see the joy radiating off a strong person as I danced like an idiot in my own bedroom…

I could see the terror in his eyes as that rogue vampire tried to make me dinner. I could see the ripple of power just beneath his skin…

And after all that…

I could see the pain in his eyes as I ripped the carved necklace from my neck and ran to my motorcycle, kicking it to life and flying down the winding roads.

I could hear the hurt in his voice as he pleaded for me to turn around and go back…

Even now, hours after I saw the pain in those eyes, the hurt in his voice, the tears flowed freely down my face, which, in itself, was yet _another_ sign of how much of an idiot I was. A small hand found mine and I gasped, shocked by the unexpected touch. To my right was a small girl, probably no older than four. She smiled with complete innocence. "Why are you cwying?" She asked in that sweet childish accent that always made me smile, no matter how deeply depressed I was. "Do you have a owie?"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes," I said simply, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand.

"Do you want Mommy to kiss it bwetter?" Her mother coughed and I smiled as I saw her blushed. She squeezed her hand and shook her head.

"That is not something you need to ask a stranger, Lisa," she grumbled, giving me an apologetic look.

"The kind of owie I have isn't the type you can kiss better."

"But you can kiss any owie bwetter."

The sudden sensation of feeling warm, moist lips on mine made my heart freeze. I could feel large, hot hands curl through my hair, holding my skull to the other. The musky scent I loved so much filled my nostrils, sending a new wave of tears down my face and painful chills down my spine. _But you can kiss any owie bwetter_…Her words echoed in my mind.

"_Flight attendants, prepare for take-off._" The captain's voice echoed over the speakers.

And at that moment, I proved to the world how stupid and idiotic I was.

…

**This has to be one of my favorite prefaces I have ever written. I started something along the same lines of this a long time ago but I got bored with it and stopped. But now my friend, of whom I have based this character off of, has been bugging to start rewriting it…and since I got a new laptop because my last one was fried, I decided to delete the other one and rewrite it.**

**Please review…I love reviews…they make me feel all warm and tingly inside. =^.^= **

**Also, this is ****Post**_**Eclipse**_** – ****PRE**_**Breaking Dawn**_**. Reneesme never happens here…or at least…not for a while.**


	2. Rhetorical Life

Rhetorical Life

_Shadow of the Day_

Shadow of the Day © A Flaming Moon

Twilight © Stephenie Meyer

…

What was ironic was that I hated my mother at that very moment in time and absolutely _loved_ my stepfather. It was rather odd. Normally it was the wicked stepparent who the child loathed with their very being. But as I walked on the runway in my pair of destroyed pale jeans and a tank top, I could feel the burning feeling I knew as hate rise in my chest. It had been my mother's choice to send me to the complete opposite side of the continental United States and my stepfather had been the one to think it was a bad idea- other than myself, of course.

I listened as I heard loved ones call out to others, praying for a safe flight for their family or friends. I could hear my younger brother crying as he learned his _big_ _sistwer was weaving_. I couldn't help but smile. I loved the sounds young children made, including their inability to speak words properly. But my four year old brother had to be my favorite of all the children I had ever known. His other older sister, still my younger, called out those same blessings others did. For eight years old, she was smart, and some of the words she shouted out towards me even baffled me.

My mother's face was as cold as stone and I tried to remember what terrible thing I had done to deserve the banishment from warm, sunny Miami to the coldest, _greenest_ place in the continental US. A broken Harley was the only think I could think of, but my most recent accident was not the first predicament I had been in with a motorcycle.

Maybe it was because I turned seventeen. I shook my head and boarded the plane. That couldn't be it. My mind sifted through my memories as I walked down the tiny aisle to my window seat in the middle of the plane. Was it because I broke that idiot John's arm at the beach? But that idiot had deserved it! He had eaten my favorite sandwich – sour green apple strips with turkey, mayo and dark nut bread. And not only that, he had spread the rumor that I had had sex with him at his mother's house…also adding that _lovely_ fact that it was _me_ who had asked him to bang me. So when he cried like a baby when I snapped his muscular arm over my knee made me smile like a kid on Christmas who got the toy she had wanted her entire life.

Of course, Mom had grounded me for a week after that.

But that couldn't have been the reason for my eviction. She had secretly laughed with my stepfather in the middle of the night about the incident with John. She said she was proud to have a daughter who had flaunted her womanhood to destroy a man's pride- both physically and emotionally.

Was it because I turned seventeen and the hormones were beginning to get on her nerves? No, that couldn't be it. She had been seventeen once and knew what was going to happen when I turned seventeen. And it couldn't have been because I crashed my bike. I had paid for all the of repairs – how few they were – and I took full responsibility of the accident, but of course, that wasn't my first accident nor would it be my last.

So why send me off to my duty loving father who was a cop in one of the smallest cities in America?

A woman sat next to me. She was rather large. Despite being seated as close to the window as humanly possible, my legs leaning against the side of the plane, the cow next to me managed to have half her flab over my leg. I fought the urge to gag as I smelled her…odor. My debating with myself was delayed from her stench. I didn't even bother with being polite. I grabbed my sweater from around my waist and pulled the sleeve over my nose.

But maybe I hadn't been damned completely. The woman had sat in the wrong seat and had been moved by the flight attendant to the seat behind me. Although her stench still drifted over the top of the seat to torment my nostrils and my insanity, the young woman who had taken her seat had the overpowering scent of expensive rose perfume. The constant scent of roses did not bother me as badly as having the cow sitting next to me, stinking up everything I had on me.

The plane broke 32,000 feet and I was probably the first person to grab my music. The headphones were in my ears and blaring before the flight attendant even finished her announcement. The hard bass of Panic! At the Disco soothed my aching headache. I closed my eyes and smiled, leaning against the somewhat comfortable seat.

My friends could not believe that I was moving to a city named after an eating utensil. For weeks I had been teased for moving to the corner of Spoon Lane and Knife Street. Even my stepfather had cracked a couple of jokes about my father's chosen place to live.

With the thought of my father, I saw a dark green Harley, shiny and absolutely _brand new_. Despite the fact that my father being a police officer in that little town, he loved motorcycles and had bought me my own brand new bike as a homecoming gift. It was strange. Most seventeen year olds would hope for a car, especially in a place where it was raining _constantly_, but I had to be different. I thought maybe Chris had bought that Harley just to piss my mother off. She hated it when I rode my bike.

"_Tell her I bought a badass bike for you to ride when you get here_," my father told me a few nights previously. We both knew my mother was listening into our conversation; she had never been very fond of my father. "_A super big, and green, badass Harley._"

"_I'll make sure to tell her,_" I had laughed before hanging up. Was it because I had agreed to ride the very thing my mother feared most which had sent me away from my sunny home in Florida? I shook my head and drifted off to sleep.

…~*~…

_I was sitting around a blazing fire. Faces I did not recognize stared at me with appreciation and respect. I gulped, not understanding why I felt so easy with the strangers around me. A very warm hand grabbed my own, squeezing it as if reassuring me. I looked to my right. A boy, large and burly and quite handsome with his short cropped black hair and even darker eyes, sat smiling at me, brilliant white teeth flashing against his dark skin and the night sky. "Go ahead. You'll do fine."_ Go ahead and do what?_ I asked myself although I did not have the courage to speak._

_Time skipped and I found myself sitting on a fallen log on a raging coast. The boy who had told me I would do fine was sitting on the sand in front of me, his head leaning on my lap. He was shirtless and merely wore black shorts whereas I was dawned in jeans and a large jacket. His breath frosted in the air. _How could he _not_ be cold?_ I found myself thinking but again, I couldn't find my voice to speak those thoughts. _

"_You know," he whispered, just barely audible for me, "I think I'm happy I have gotten over Bella." _Bella_? He looked up at me and that thought became lost. His eyes were filled with such devotion and love I thought I would drown in the amount of feelings I saw in those dark eyes. He laughed and took my hand. "I really am." He pulled me down onto the sand on top of him, his lips meeting mine. They were warm and moist, filled with the same eagerness as mine did. _

_I felt his hands unzip my jacket, pulling the unneeded warmth off of my arms. My own hands were tracing the lines of his muscles. His arms were large and defined, now embracing me and pulling me closer to his body. "I love you, Aislynn," he whispered in my ear. Then the earth began to rumble as if an earthquake of great power erupted through the ground and I fell off of the boy that had been holding me so close. I heard him howl angrily._

_And the rest faded away into mists…_

…~*~…

I awoke with a jolt. The plane had landed at the airport. And I wasn't the only one who had been rudely awoken by the rather rough landing. The cow behind me screamed out of her dream as if someone had been stabbing her. I smiled but it immediately faded as I wondered why I had such a strangely erotic dream. I was no cheerleading slut getting banged by the quarterback after the homecoming game.

Why had my life suddenly changed to being run by a bunch of rhetorical questions?

My father was waiting at the baggage claim for me, his arm decorated with a beautiful brand new cast. "You've got to be kidding me," I grumbled as I walked towards him, embracing him in a tight hug. He smelled like salt water; one of my favorite scents. "_Another_ broken arm, Dad? Are you trying to see how far your body will go before you stop healing like you're immortal?" He puffed out his chest slightly.

"Maybe," his eyes wandered over the ceiling tiles. I couldn't help but laugh at my father's feigned innocence.

"How could you ever be a cop when you act like a child?" I watched as the baggage wheel began to turn. He shrugged. "I'm curious how everyone takes you so seriously. Especially Charlie." I laughed as I imagined the police chief's smile as he hung out with my father. The two were complete and total opposites yet they were probably the best of friends.

"I know when to get serious, Aislynn," my father grumbled. His eyes, the same green lined with brown as mine, still danced like a child. "And I do my job well. That's how I do it."

"Do what?"

"Stay employed." I rolled my eyes and laughed, catching my black suitcase by the handle. "Did you bring a big enough bag?" I looked down at the bag. I had only brought one suitcase and it wasn't all that big. Being five foot two, it went to my waist.

"It goes to my waist, Dad," I growled.

"Have you seen how tall you are?" I playfully punched him in the arm. "I'm serious! You keep getting shorter each time I see you!"

"Dad, you haven't seen me in four years." My mother had used that total custody grant from the court to keep my away from my father the moment I turned thirteen. Those summer vacations to visit my father were done that very summer. Only another reason to hate my mother. "I should be taller to you."

He measured the top of my head to his body. It went to the upper part of his chest, not quite yet making his shoulder. "You're still short." He laughed at my scowl as we walked out of the airport. Not to my surprise, it was raining outside. I easily made out his police car in a handicapped parking space. I glared at him, a smile dancing disbelievingly on my face. He caught my look and shrugged his shoulders innocently. "What?"

"You jiffed a handicapped spot because of your _arm_?"

"Maybe," the childish look returned.

"You have got to be kidding me, Dad."

"You think I'm kidding a lot, kiddo," he ruffled my hair with his good hand. "You should learn that I am serious a lot of the time." I cocked an eyebrow. "I didn't get the parking spot for me."

"Then who? The special Olympics team hidden in the back seat."

"You really have become a smart ass those years with your mom, haven't you?"

"So you've noticed?" He laughed him booming laugh. "Seriously, Dad, how did you break your arm _this_ time?"

"A stakeout."

"Bull."

"No really."

"Dad, Forks isn't big enough for a stakeout." He unlocked the car and I threw my bag into the trunk. Slamming it down I ran to the passenger seat.

"You're thinking of the wrong stakeout, Aislynn." He smiled, his teeth partially yellowed by beer stains and the constant meat diet he lived off of.

"A BBQ? You got your arm broken at a BBQ? How the hell do you do that?"

"Do you remember Tanner Johnson?" He looked at me without turning his head. A wicked smile danced across his face as he backed out of the parking lot. I nodded once. I remembered Tanner. He was about six foot, seven and about the size of a professional wrestler. He kept his dusty black hair combed out of his deep green eyes, which always reminded me of Elvis Presley. "Well, Charlie and Rodger made a bet that I wouldn't be able to even get Tanner to fight me, not with what happened a couple months ago," he shook his hand, not willing to elaborate on the subject.

"So they got you to _fight_ him?" He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "Unbelievable."

We spent the next half an hour exchanging stories, many of them rather humorous. He asked about my flight and I told him everything from the cold glare from my mother to the cow who had sat in the wrong seat. I conveniently left out my rather erotic dream. Even though my father was the rare police officer who loved riding a motorcycle, he frowned upon underage sex. At the thought of my dream, I realized that fatigue began to eat at the edges of my strength and Dad noticed me yawning more often than not. "Why don't you get some sleep? We won't be there for another hour or so."

"You sure you'll survive, what with your one arm driving?" He laughed and patted my shoulder with his cast.

"I made it up to the airport. Get some sleep." I shrugged and leaned against the glass, giving myself up to the weariness. I secretly hoped I would have that same dream I had had on the plane. I did not understand why but I really did hope I could see that boy once more…

…~*~…

_"Be careful, Aislynn." It was the boy. His hair had grown out a bit, just barely bordering his high cheek bones and tanned skin. His skin bagged underneath his dark eyes as if he hadn't had sleep in weeks. His warm fingertips drifted over my cheek. I moved his hand and I noticed the glistening pearl of a tear on his finger. He kissed it. "I don't think I could ever lose you." _

_And he swept me up into his hot embrace, his mouth hard on mine._

…

**Yay, Chapter One! This was a lot longer than I had originally planned and a lot more…steamy…in some parts. I'm pretty sure that the rating may change later on in the fanfic…**

**For those of you questioning Aislynn's name, it's Irish meaning "Dream/Vision". Only befitting to her, which you'll find out later on in the story!**

**Please rate! It makes the world go round!**


	3. Home that isn't so Sweet

Home that Isn't so Sweet

_Shadow of the Day_

Shadow of the Day © A Flaming Moon

Twilight © Stephenie Meyer

…

I was surprised at my father's new house.

On a simple police officer's salary, he had managed to get a two story house on the edge of a large forest and it was within walking distance of the high school, which was a bummer, but he assured me I could still ride my motorcycle to school and I smiled widely. The outside of the house was a sophisticated shade of dark red brick and the archway was made of dark grey slate. The door was somewhat large and had a glass center. Each piece was placed in perfectly and was held together by silver streaks of metal.

Inside, the walls were painted a pale shade of yellow. To the left and right were single, three walled rooms, both of them with walls that were a deep shade of emerald. To the left was a large dining room table of rich cherry wood. I raised an eyebrow at my father, who merely shrugged, refusing to talk about the expensive furniture. The room to the right had a staircase painted the same green as the walls. A large wood desk held a fancy new laptop and a printer. "Dad, did you win the lottery or something?" He glared at me.

"Did you not hear about your grandmother?" I raised an eyebrow and shook my head. My grandma Anna was one of those rich grandmothers you swore you would go insane if you spent too much time with her. She spoke with an obviously fake British accent and always wore furs and fancy evening gowns. Of course, she had been appalled to find out that my father had married a "commoner woman" and wanted a simple, somewhat easy job. I could have sworn she had disowned him.

"Did she finally bite the dust?" He punched me in the arm. His face was serious but his eyes danced in amusement.

"What a rude thing to say," he grumbled, sounding offended. "She was your _grandmother_."

"Dad," I growled, raising an eyebrow and crossing my arms over my chest. "That woman _hated_ you and _loathed _Mom. I don't even think there is a word that describes how much she hated your offspring." I shrugged, arms still crossed. "Just as there is no word that describes my," I searched for the correct term to use, "_feelings_ for my 'grandmother', as you so stately put it." He burst into laughter.

"You're right." He ruffled my hair like he used to and continued his walk around the house. "Why do you always have to be right?"

"Because I'm a girl," He stopped in his tracks and looked back at me.

"OK? So you have breasts instead of a penis," I burst into laughter. My father was never one for gentle words. "Why does that make you right more than not?"

"It's in the job description of being a female," I shrugged, the smile still pulling on my lips. "Just as it _should_ say as rule number one in the _boys'_ description to listen to everything we females say. And that we're always right."

"You do know that doesn't make any sense, Aislynn." I shrugged.

"I tried to explain it to you, but _no_," he led me up the stairs; "you couldn't make any sense of it. It proves that girls _are_ truly smarter than guys."

"Whatever, little Diva," he laughed. He opened a door. "This is your trailer. Use it how you see fit," he winked at me, "just keep it clean."

"Yes, Mr. Director." He chuckled once.

"Why don't you get some sleep," he checked his watch and I did the same: 8.35. "It's late."

"Eight thirty is late for you Dad?" I raised an eyebrow. "Someone's getting _old_." Again, he punched me in the arm before walking back downstairs. I watched him go. My father could be immature at times but he was probably one of the greatest dads the world had. He could always bring a smile to my face; no matter how depressed I was feeling. I could never recall a time where I felt so depressed my own _father_ couldn't bring a smile. Of course, many of those smiles had been for the pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream he always brought with him. I shook my head at my own thought and turned towards my room, shutting the door behind me.

It was somewhat large with a walk in closet with sliding Japanese styled doors on the far right wall of the room. The walls were painted a green that matched the shade of the Wicked Witch of the West's skin, minus the warts. On the top of the walls surrounding the rooms, were violet flowers, hand-painted on a darker green vine. On the far wall, leaned up against the left wall was my twin sized bed with puppy dog sheets and a grey comforter lined with green, teal, and purple streaks at the end of it. A small side table was placed next to it, made of polished wood. A silver office lamp was put on top. On the back wall was a large dresser with a mirror, reflecting back images from the door. On the closest wall, the same wall the door was on was a desk built into a crook in the wall. A computer sat with a brand new printer on the polished wood.

"Thanks Dad," I mumbled putting my backpack next to the bed and the suitcase by the dresser. With my headphones in my ears, I changed into my pajamas and drifted off to sleep on my new bed.

…~*~…

_The boy was in my room. His hair had grown out a bit and it just tickled his cheeks. But those cheeks had wounds on them, dripping with blood. His breathing was fast and labored and he crumbled to the ground. I jumped to his side, resting his head in my lap. Sweat began to pour down his forehead and he groaned. His shirt was missing, revealing multiple scratches, and his pants were torn to shreds. "What the hell happened?" I asked, unsure why though. _

"_Damn bloodsucker." Before my eyes, his wounds began to heal. I gulped. What the hell was he? "They ambushed us on the borderline." He grimaced, looking up at my face, which I was sure was contorted with pain and fear. "I got the worst of it. Everyone else is worse for wear, but better than me._" Everyone else_, I thought. _Who else could _survive_ wounds like this?_ He brushed my cheek with his hand, leaving a smear of blood on my pale skin. "Are you alright?" I nodded once, not knowing exactly _what_ to say. _

_Minutes passed and he slowly pulled himself up. He had left large puddles of blood on my carpet. Most of the minor scratches on his chest faded away, not even leaving a scar. The few major lashes on his arms and belly were puffy and pink. "I am so glad you're safe." I smiled and cupped his cheek in my hand. "God, you feel so cold."_

"_Alright, Mr. Volcano," I grumbled back, still chuckling. He didn't laugh, but studied my face. "What?" His smile grew wicked. "What's going through your mind?" He grabbed my wrist, pulling me down on top of his body. Immediately, my own began to sweat against his burning chest. His lips found mine almost instantly and I melted against his touch. His hands roamed my back, trailing gently down my spine. Again, my fingers traced his firm abs, then moving lower to unbutton his jeans. His fingers moved to unbutton my shirt. As he slid my shirt off, he let his fingertips gently traced down my arms, sending shivers down my spine. _

"_I love you."_

…~*~…

I woke up tangled in my sheets, sweat pouring down my forehead. A glass of water sat on the side table. I sighed and looked down at my cream colored carpet. It was clean. No blood pooled anywhere on my flooring. I sighed, resting my head in my hand. "Just another freaky dream," I whispered. _But who is that guy?_

…

**Sorry I have taken so long to post. I live in "Lightening Ally" in Florida…and trust me, the weather here lives up to its name! A bolt hit our driveway a few days back and fried our internet lines. Annoyingly, because our internet line runs alongside our cable and landlines, we were completely out of touch with the outside world, except for our phones. So there will be a **_**lot**_** of chapters for you!**


	4. A Simple Morning

A Simple Morning

_Shadow of the Day_

Shadow of the Day © A Flaming Moon

Twilight © Stephenie Meyer

…

Dad woke up at around one o'clock that day. I had been sitting in a recliner, surfing the web on my laptop. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty," I chuckled when he walked into the room. "Did you sleep well?" He shrugged and stumbled his way into the kitchen, grabbing a coffee mug and pouring his own. "Are you suffering from a Tequila hangover or something?"

"You're hilarious," he growled. "I'm not a morning kind of guy."

"Really?" I gasped sarcastically. He punched me in the arm half-assed. "Pitiful, Dad. Maybe you should go back to sleep."

"Shut up." He drank his coffee as if it was nothing more than a shot glass of vodka. "Did you sleep well?"

"To an extent, yeah," I shrugged. There was no way in hell I was going to tell my father about that erotic dream. I shuddered. He would murder me if he knew I was having dreams like that. "Thanks for the new computer too."

"Not a problem." He ruffled my hair and lounged on the couch. "There's a homecoming gift in the garage. The keys are on the rack."

"Rack?" He pointed to the key rack bolted to the back of the front door. "Ah." I smiled and bolted towards the door. "Is it my bike?" Dad looked around with that fake innocence of his, his blue eyes darting around the room. I shook my head and snatched the bike keys with a little black bow on them. "May I-?"

"Go ahead," he smiled, pulling himself up from his chair. I couldn't help but cry out and run out of the house, bolting towards the garage separate to the house.

Inside was my super, green, badass Harley.

I couldn't help but squeal out loud. My father walked into the garage with my leather jacket draped over his arm. "Why don't you go try her out?" He smiled, pointing to a new dark green helmet that shined on the table standing next to my bike. I turned to face him and he put a hand up. He must have seen the uncertainty in my eyes. "I won't be able to ride for a long time. Just go and think of me when you ride. Is that too much to ask?" I laughed and hugged him around the waist. I felt like a little girl again.

"Thanks Dad," I said with a genuine smile on my face. I pulled on my thick leather jacket with a sigh, smelling its musky scent that always made my tense muscles relax. I pulled on my new helmet with a smile and boarded my new bike. "I love it. Thank you so much."

"Be careful, m'kay?" He ruffled my hair and handed me my helmet. I pushed the strands he had ruffled into my eyes away and boarded my bike. "Alright?"

"Of course," I laughed, and broke away.

…

**Incredibly short…but I am at a loss for words (and not in a good way) so I am going to post this chapter up and start typing the next one as soon as I get a break from Homework…I am up to my ears in homework in 2 AP classes, two honor classes, Latin 1, Creative Writing….and 3 hours of band after school every day…I am dying here… I am so sorry it is so short…but I promise Aislynn will meet Jacob in the next chapter…but not in the way you think! =^.^=**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!**


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